I huff. “I was not doing a stripper move.”
“Looked like a stripper move.”
I set my hands on my hips, then punch them forward. Add in a little gyration. “How’s that for a stripper move?”
Her eyes pop, but she holds her own with a comeback. “I didn’t know your bodyguard services included a free show.”
“Who said it was free?” I counter.
“I guess I could go get some dollar bills and make it rain.” She snaps her fingers. “Better idea. Maybe we should sign up for a pole dancing class!” She bats her lashes. “Would that work for you? We could learn together.” Then she pauses, tapping her chin. “But you probably know how to pole dance already. Like you know yoga. And when I’d be up. And that I’d ride my bike.”
“If you can find a place that teaches pole dancing, I’m there.” Just let her try to call my bluff. She has no idea I don’t have a bluff to call.
She lifts her chin. “Bet you think we don’t have dance studios in small towns.”
“Bet you think I wasn’t raised in one.”
She blinks. “Oh.” There’s a furrow in her brow—a momentary truce in our zings as she asks earnestly, “You were? Which town?”
“Lucky Falls,” I say.
At the mention of the little town thirty or so minutes away, a genuine smile tips her lips. “That place is so cute. I love the bookstore there. And there’s a great wine shop.”
“It’s not a bad place.” Too bad we couldn’t stay there after my father’s lies were exposed. After everyone stared at Mom, my sister, and me, whispering about our family.
“There’s not actually a dance studio here though,” she says, flapping a hand toward the street, as if to indicate all of Darling Springs. “But the community center has been adding some fun new classes. Candle-making and pottery and stuff. Maybe pole dancing will be next. You never know,” she says, then her gaze strays longingly toward the end of the block, landing on the chalkboard sign with the coffee cup on it.
Pick Me Up.
She lifts her nose slightly skyward, like she’s trying to catch the faint scent of freshly brewed beans. I know a caffeine hankering when I see one, especially since I’m feeling it myself.
“Want a coffee? It’s on me,” I add.
Her eyes widen in surprise. Possibly delight. Then, she’s all sarcasm once more as she says, “In that case, I’ll have a dozen coffees.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if that was what you ordered.”
We turn toward Pick Me Up, and as we walk, I set a hand on the small of her back. The second I touch her, a small shudder runs down her body.
Same here.
Same fucking here.
She looks down at my arm. “Is that…to keep me safe?”
She asks only with curiosity. Maybe a hint of hope.
The coffee shop is a few feet away. She’s safe. I don’t want to worry her. But I don’t want to admit the truth either.
I’m touching you because I want to.
“It’s just…a good idea.” That sounds true enough. But really, it’s a bad idea, and I’m doing it anyway.
16
NAP TIME
BANKS
